


Letters Never Sent

by TheManOfManyFandoms



Series: DreamSMP Angst and Comfort [13]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Bad Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Broken Families, Gen, Hopeful Ending, Insane Wilbur Soot, Nostalgia, Recovery, Regret, Sad, Sad TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Sad Wilbur Soot, Toby Smith | Tubbo Deserves Better, TommyInnit Needs a Hug (Video Blogging RPF), Trauma, Traumatized Tommyinnit (Video Blogging RPF), Villain Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-21
Updated: 2021-03-21
Packaged: 2021-03-28 18:15:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30143598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheManOfManyFandoms/pseuds/TheManOfManyFandoms
Summary: A series of letters being written.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), GeorgeNotFound & Karl Jacobs, Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson
Series: DreamSMP Angst and Comfort [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2052576
Comments: 12
Kudos: 56





	Letters Never Sent

**Author's Note:**

> This is a bit different from what I usually write, but enjoy! :]

During the revolution, Wilbur had written to Phil whenever there had been paper available to use. He never, not once, received an answer. It was alright, though. It was almost like being able to pour all of his emotions into some invisible void. It was comforting, in a way, to have some way to vent all of his doubts and fears; joys and triumphs.

Sometimes he would just write a vague paragraph or two, telling his father, who likely never read the letters, about some new worry. Other times, he’d fill up whole pages, describing events and emotions. Such as, the way his heart soared, when he saw sunlight hit the L’Manburg flag just so, for the first time. 

As time went on (and he got more and more caught up in the stress of the election and the subsequent disaster), he began to write less and less. One day, he stared down at an empty sheet of paper and realized that he had nothing to say. What _was_ there to say anymore? What was the point of pouring his heart out to someone who had likely forgotten that he existed years ago? 

He tried, just once more, about a week before the sixteenth of November. He labored over the letter for hours, that evening, snapping at anyone and everyone, who dared to interrupt him. Tommy tried to pry him away from the fire, once, and Wilbur shouted at him for five minutes, in his irritation. Tommy’s unhappy frown that, not so long ago, would have made Wilbur put aside everything for him, only made him more annoyed. He wasn’t sure how to feel about not having that grounding pang of guilt anymore.

When he finished his letter, he read and reread it, trying to decide whether or not it truly mattered enough to send.

> _Hey, ~~Dad~~ Phil,_
> 
> _I hope this finds you well, though I doubt anything could hurt you, if it tried. It’s been a hard few months for me, living out here in Pogtopia. ~~I don’t know what to do.~~ They all think I’m going insane. ~~I’m not insane, Phil, I’m not I’m not I’m not I’m~~ They don’t have a clue what they’re talking about. I’ll show them. Well, _ _maybe. When I blow up Manburg, on the sixteenth, Tommy and Tubbo will probably hate me. They just don’t understand, Phil. If I can’t have Manburg nobody should! That’s not insanity, is it?_
> 
> _Sure, some people might get caught in the crossfire, but Technoblade’s on my side. That means that you would take my side too, right Phil? ~~Why is nobody ever on my side?~~_ You _always did like Techno better than the rest of us. ~~What does he have that I don’t?~~ Will you be proud of me, now? ~~I miss you.~~_
> 
> _Your ~~Loving~~ Son, _
> 
> _Wilbur Soot_

Wilbur read it over once more and scoffed at himself. Scoffed at the desperate pleas for affection (something that hadn’t changed since he had been twelve years old), scoffed at the frustrated tears welling up in his eyes, scoffed at the way he had wasted a whole day, that could have been spent preparing, on some silly little letter. He tossed it angrily into the fire, without another glance at the contents. It was easier to let such trivial things burn.

* * *

Tubbo had never made a greater mistake than exiling Tommy. He hoped, at least, that Tommy knew how much he regretted it. Dream had said that Tommy didn’t want to talk to him. Tubbo didn’t blame him. He wasn’t sure if he would want to talk to Tommy, if the situation had been reversed. _That was a lie. He forgave much too easily and everybody knew it._

He came up with the brilliant idea of _writing_ to Tommy, instead, as a means of getting his regret across to the younger teen. He spent the better part of a day in writing it, working to get. the words just right. He would rush back to it, whenever he had time off. Finally, when he was satisfied with it, he scanned it through it hastily.

> _Tommy,_
> 
> _I know you don’t want to talk to me, right now, and I completely understand. I fucked up. Badly. If you don’t ever want to talk to me again, I would understand. Just please read this apology and understand that I am so, so sorry._
> 
> _I really thought that I didn’t have any other choice. I should have known better and it’s no excuse, but I was so stressed and so tired and I just wanted to get Dream off my back. It shouldn’t have been at the cost of your wellbeing. I will regret exiling you for the rest of my life, Tommy. You’re my best friend in the world and I should have remembered that._
> 
> _If you can ever forgive me, I would love to visit you, whenever you want to see me. ~~Please, please forgive me.~~ I’ll work on getting you back into L’Manburg soon. I promise._
> 
> _I love you,_
> 
> _Tubbo_

He handed the letter off to Dream the next day, who took it with a sympathetic click of his tongue that nearly made Tubbo believe that the man really did feel bad. For a few hours, he let himself hope that Tommy would, at the very least, relay a rudely worded message back to him. Instead of this, Dream returned that evening, with the regretful news that Tommy had hurled the letter into a lava pool. 

Tubbo, stunned and hurt, asked if Tommy had at least read it. Dream replied with an apologetic shrug. Tubbo shut himself in his office for the rest of the night. If anyone noticed, the next morning, that he hadn’t slept, nobody pointed it out.

* * *

Tommy missed Tubbo and hated him, in equal measures. He was furious with the hybrid for exiling him, but he missed being on speaking terms with him. Dream had told him many times over that Tubbo was happy with him gone. It hurt the same, every time.

Nearly two months into his exile, he tentatively suggested to Dream that he might write to Tubbo. To his surprise, Dream agreed to the idea without much deliberation. He got to work immediately, using a spare pen and a scrap of paper that Dream had given to him. 

> _Tubbo,_
> 
> _I know I’m not really known for apologizing, but I’d just like to say that I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking, when I burned down George’s house, or when I argued all of those times you were trying to help me. I mean, Dream says that I never think and he’s probably right._
> 
> _I understand that you hate me, ~~I hate me too.~~ I guess I just wanted to write this to make sure you didn’t think I wasn’t sorry, because I am. ~~I miss you so much.~~ Shit, I can’t write any more right now. I have to go, Dream’s calling me and he sounds pissed._
> 
> ~~_Love you_ ~~ _From,_
> 
> _Tommy_

Tommy rushed folded the paper hastily and stuffed it into the envelope Dream had given to him. “I’m coming, I’m coming,” he called, “I was just finishing up a thing. What’s wrong?” He rushed out of the little room in Logsted, where he had been using the counter top to write, shoving the envelope into a pocket of his shorts. He was greeted with the sight of Dream in his vault.

When Tommy was shivering, curled up in a damp, freezing room underneath Technoblade’s house that night, he realized that the letter was still crumpled in his pocket.

* * *

George was sitting at his desk, tapping his pen against his chin in thought. He had been trying to write this letter for ages, but he just couldn’t quite find the right words. Groaning, he dropped his pen onto the table and buried his head in his hands, mussing up his hair in frustration. Someone knocked softly on the doorframe and leaned into the room to say, “Hey, you still working on that?”

”Yes,” George sighed, “I don’t know what to say, Karl.”

”That’s alright,” Karl said quietly, coming to stand behind him. He put a hand on George’s shoulder and squeezed comfortingly. “Sapnap still hasn’t written to him.”

”Yeah, I know, but he _visited_ him, at least,” George’s voice lowered as he continued, “I’m too much of a coward to speak to him in person.”

”Hey,” Karl said sharply, “You’re not a coward for not wanting to speak to an asshole like him.”

“He- he used me... didn’t he?” George checked. He asked this question regularly. He needed the reassurance from others around him. Others, who wouldn’t tell him that he was overreacting, or making things up. Others, who wouldn’t lie to him.

”Yeah, he did,” Karl rubbed his shoulder reassuringly, “He used a lot of people.”

“Wasn’t it stupid of me, to think he loved me?” George scoffed.

”No, I don’t think it was stupid,” Karl said and George knew he was thinking of Quackity.

”Why am I still so afraid to talk to him?” George asked miserably, “He’s been locked up for two _months_.”

“Plenty of people haven’t gone to see him,” Karl pointed out.

”Well how come _I_ haven’t, if Tommy did?” George snapped. The look on Karl’s face made him regret it immediately.

”Right,” Karl said bitterly, “Like that turned out well.”

”Fuck, I’m sorry,” George groaned, “I- I wasn’t thinking about that.”

Karl shook his head. “I know you didn’t,” he sighed, “Just- you didn’t see Quackity that first night, after...”

“I know,” George hung his head, staring at the half-finished letter, “Sometimes it feels like that kid was the only thing holding this godforsaken server together.”

”Well, I know what can hold _us_ together,” Karl said, with a small smile, tugging George to his feet, “Let’s have some hot chocolate and watch a movie. You deserve to relax, George.”

”Yeah... sure,” George shrugged, glancing back at his letter. He could always finish it later. There was nobody around to make him finish it, after all. It could wait. The part of it that had already been written didn’t get his point across well enough, anyway.

> _Dear Dream,_
> 
> _I’d say that I hope you’re doing well, but that would be a lie. I do miss you, but at the same time, I don’t want to speak to you ever again. You ruined the SMP_ _and you ruined the people in it. I forgot what it was like to see Sapnap smile, until you were locked up, you know? I hope you rot in that goddamn prison, ~~even though I still think I love you sometimes.~~  
>    
>  Karl and Puffy ~~(she’s my therapist)~~ say that it’s normal for me feel like you fucked me up so badly, even though I think it’s selfish. You’ve done so much worse to other people that it seems like I’m overreacting to be so... I don’t know~ _It trailed off there.   
>    
> 

George never went back to finish it.

* * *

Tommy’s hand shook, as he wrote. He had only escaped the prison two weeks ago and every nerve in his body still jolted, with every unexpected noise and every unwanted touch. Therapy with Puffy was helping, but it still wasn’t enough. Still, he wanted to finish this letter.

> _Dream,_
> 
> _Puffy says that it might help me to write to you. I think it’s fucking bullshit, but she says that it’s a good way to vent my emotions. She said I don’t ever have to send it to you, if I don’t want to. I’m glad of that. It’d feel too much like you keeping tabs on me again, otherwise._
> 
> _Well, first of all, fuck you. Fuck you the most out of everybody I’ve ever met. You’re ugly and foul and cruel and you ruined my life about three times over. I wish you were dead. ~~No, I don’t.~~ It’s your fault that I can’t go near plains without shaking and it’s your fault that I can’t see half-filled creeper holes without panicking._
> 
> _Worst of all, it’s your fault that I freak out whenever I do something as small as stub my toe, or getting my finger caught in a door jamb. It’s not fair at all, because I know I’m a horrible, awful, piece of shit, but I don’t think I deserved what you did to me._
> 
> _Puffy says that I’m not a piece of shit, but I don’t believe her. Everybody else says I am. Well, maybe not Sam. ~~I hate Sam, too.~~  
>  _
> 
> _Yesterday, I didn’t flinch, when Tubbo moved too fast. Puffy says that it’s progress, but I don’t really know what that means. I’ve given up on my brain ever going back to normal, so I guess I’ll settle for little, stupid things like that._
> 
> _I don’t know what else to tell you, so I suppose I’ll leave off here._
> 
> _Fuck you,_
> 
> _Tommy_

It really did help to write down some of his feelings. He never sent the letter to anybody, let alone Dream. Instead, he ripped it into pieces and chucked the pieces into a fire. Dream didn’t deserve to know how well he had succeeded in breaking Tommy. Tommy would recover, in order to say ‘fuck you’ to Dream, if for no other reason.

After all, Tommy was free now and Dream would never be free again.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all enjoyed! I’d love to hear your opinions in the comments <3 If people like this enough, I might add another chapter!
> 
> Also, holy shit holy shit the Mar. 20 Tales stream. It was so fucking good. My life is 10% watching TOTSMP and 90% waiting for the next TOTSMP


End file.
